Ruined by a Rake Read Online Free Page A

he looked as vibrant and virile as a prize stallion. And to think she had been inadvertently admiring him. The men in her family could go to the devil, as far as she was concerned. Fresh anger welled up from the conversation with Uncle Robert, from the helplessness and impotence of being played like some puppet.
    Eleanor jerked the door open so suddenly that Nick stumbled forward, very nearly falling flat on his face. She waited until he recovered to pin him with a frosty glare. “I am not an old maid, Nicolas Norton, and you are not some sort of confidant. Why would I tell you anything? You’ve been back all of two hours, and already you have reverted to the wayward young boy who always tagged behind me like a puppy, making trouble for me at every turn.”
    She would never in a thousand years say such harsh things to any other person on earth, but Nick had always thrived on annoying her. This was what they did. She doubted she would know what to do if he ever offered her a genuine kind word. To do so would mean that he actually took something seriously.
    “What is life without a little trouble?” he asked, brushing off her insults. “You know what I think? I think you’ve missed me.”
    “Yes, about as much as one misses a hangnail.”
    He chuckled, his green eyes sparkling despite the waning evening light. “You do say the sweetest things, Ellie. Lucky for you, I know exactly what you need.”
    She crossed her arms, looking at him with patent disbelief. He knew nothing about what she needed, nothing at all. She needed freedom, respect, the ability to not be married off to the man of Uncle Robert’s choosing. “Oh? And what is that, exactly?”
    “To meet me at the ruins. Tomorrow at dawn.” He gave her a quick wink, made a military turn, and marched from the room.
    She blinked, caught off guard. Then a slow, reluctant smile softened the corners of her mouth. For once, he was absolutely right. Devil take the man for knowing her so well. 
     
                                ***
    “My, but you are looking so well, darling.” Nick’s mother stretched her lips in a lazy smile from across the dinner table. She was the only person he knew that could manage such an expression without betraying a single wrinkle. Perhaps the vast quantities of drink she had consumed all these years—including tonight—were successfully preserving her after all. “Eleanor, isn’t he looking well?”
    Ignoring his mother’s slightly slurred words, Nick raised an eyebrow at Eleanor, challenging her to disagree with the assessment. He could practically hear her grit her teeth.
    “Indeed,” she murmured , clearly pained to admit it. An actual compliment would probably kill her.
    Although, to be fair, he never complimented her, either. She was slender and beautiful, with full lips that begged to be kissed and gorgeous dark hair that looked so silky, he’d spent the last decade fighting the desire to run his hands through it. All of this, however, would never leave his lips.
    Lifting his glass in a mock salute, he said, “Please, cousin, you’ll give me a big head with such eager praise.”
    “You don’t need me for that.”
    “Now, now, the both of you. Do behave at the dinner table.” Mother paused to take another drink of her wine before turning her less than focused gaze on Nick. “It’s been so long, my son. Please, tell us all about your life in the militia.”
    Malcolm’s knife screeched against porcelain as he cut his roast lamb with much more force than necessary. “I don’t think we need to hear about his battlefield experiences, Lavinia.”
    Nick ran his tongue along his teeth in an attempt to hold back his retort, but it was no use. “Are you certain? I was under the impression gory battlefield details were appropriate conversation for the dinner table, and was about to proceed accordingly.”
    His stepfather glared daggers above the floral centerpiece as the candlelight flickered